


Zehn Morgen (ten tomorrows)

by sammyspreadyourwings



Series: Ad Astra per Aspera [4]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Arguing, Blood, Blood Drinking, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Misunderstandings, Panic Attacks, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 08:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18442892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyspreadyourwings/pseuds/sammyspreadyourwings
Summary: The boys in the aftermath of Brian's shift. Some handle it better than others.





	Zehn Morgen (ten tomorrows)

**Author's Note:**

> I was planning the next update to be the next part of the main story, however, a lot of people had asked about it, so here it is. The aftermath of that morning! Enjoy!

Roger hates blood bars. The shadier ones have compelling rooms “for the thrill of the hunt.” It’s not illegal, technically, but the line is too close to Roger’s own principles to be completely comfortable with it. He also hates the way the blood tastes, like its used. Right now, it’s the fastest and easiest way to find a Fae to drink from.

Low murmurs of conversation prick at his ears. The dealer offers him a leering smile.

“New in town? Haven’t seen you before. What can I help you with?”

“No,” Roger frowns, “it’s 11 in the morning, what do you think I want?”

He can’t bring himself to say it, that seems a little too pathetic.

“Well then,” the Dealer doesn’t seem offended, “50 for an hour.”

Roger drops the bills on the counter. Another soft edge of guilt forms at the action. Council money doesn’t work with mortal stores, but he could’ve exchanged it. They were hurting this month for funds.

“Three hours? Already that bad of a day?”

“In a way.”  
The dealer hands him a key. Roger glances at the number and moves deeper into the bar. Iron and copper mingle in the air and his fangs protrude. He licks his lips and swallows as he passes a door where the smell is particularly strong.

Blood banks are everything vampires try not to be these days. They’re decorated in tacky Victorian reds and blacks and the “torches” barely give off enough light for him to not use his night vision. Which seems idiotic when he thinks about it. He unlocks the room.

The bed, like the walls, is covered in dark fabrics. There’s a basis in the corner filled with water and silk bandages tucked under it. Roger sits down, the bed is soft, and it makes him wrinkle his nose. When was the last time he had been in a bed this soft? Awhile at least as he’s taken to cuddling with Brian regularly. His thoughts drift to Brian and how he’s doing.

Then his meal walks through the door. She smiles and he takes her in. Her clothes are designed partly to be revealing but the main arteries remain unimpeded. He’ll never understand why anyone wants to work in a place like this.

She bats her eyes, “hey sweetie, where’s your spot?”

“Neck,” Roger grunts, he doesn’t know where _that_ smell is coming from but it’s driving him wild.

The woman pouts at his answer but sways over to him and straddles his hips. If it makes her more comfortable, he won’t force her to move. She tilts his head.

Roger inhales through his nose, and his mouth feels like its watering. She’s sweeter than his usual meals, but feeding is his secondary priority.

It’s been so long since he drank Fae blood.

His fangs scrape her neck as he finds the best spot. He presses them in harder and they break the skin easily. The blood wells onto his tongue. It’s not as sweet as she smells, and then came the tang of the Fae. Roger groans and readjusts his position to get more.

He pulls off after a few more seconds. The blood settles in his stomach and he feels better. His meal stands up and moves to the table with the basin on it. She pulls out a bottle of orange liquid (orange juice his brain supplies sluggishly).

Roger leans back against the headboard. The blood starts to overcome his senses. His face feels warm and his libs are eyes are heavy and his thoughts go blissfully silently. He is dimly aware of the woman settling next to him with a magazine.

He slides down the bed and it feels worse now that he’s laying on it. What originally was a mild inconvenience is now a major annoyance.

“Are all the beds this soft?” He’s not sure he formed the words right.

“Yes. Most like the comfort.”

“I don’t. Brian’s bed is firm.”

“The point of this was to not think about Brian or how he’s feeling or why they had to let him shift alone. Lykans are vulnerable during the shift and aggressive but Roger would never hurt Brian. He has no idea why Brian would think that he would.

“Been an hour yet?”

“Just about. Ready sweetie?”

Roger nods and leans over to her, he should really ask her name, and bites over his previous one. Again, the blood is sweet, and it fills him. He pulls off and blood runs down his chin, this time his bite hadn’t been as clean.

The effect is nearly immediate, and the feeling shifts from heaviness to giddiness. He giggles at the hair tickling his face. His meal’s is dark but straight. Roger wrinkles his nose, unsure of when his preferences changed. He used to dislike curly hair on people.

He curls around the pillow that is shoved into his arms. There’s no scent to it, even as he knows his nose is not as good as Brian’s he knows his bandmate’s scents. He likes smelling them.

“Sober up before you leave,” says the woman.

She steps out of the room. Roger rolls onto his back. The room is spinning so he accepts that he probably looks like a mess. Drank too much and too fast. Which is sucky, because he really wants to sleep it off in his flat with people he knows.

Then he realizes the problem with that.

He’d have to see Brian, he would want to cuddle but Brian probably wouldn’t let him because apparently, he’s untrustworthy. Roger tugs the pillow hard against him. What had he done? His eyes blink against the burning sensation. It’s as close as he can get to crying.

He’s not sure he understands the reason. Maybe he really did drink too much.

* * *

Brian thinks getting joggers on should be a praiseworthy accomplishment. He grimaces at the redness of the scar on his hip. It always looks bad after a shift, and he sometimes questions if there wasn’t silver still left. The other scar never looks that bad.

His bed sags as he lays face down. Brian wonders if getting hit by a truck would feel more pleasant than the day after. Certainly, it would take care of all his problems. He pulls his thoughts away from that line. It’s harder than he’ll ever admit.

There are no fresh scents circling his nose and he can’t hear anything.

_That’s it,_ Brian thinks, _you’ve finally become too much._

He curls around his knees. His stomach growls and his throat is tacky with thirst. _Fantastic._ He’s going to die of dehydration because he’s too tired to get water. His entire body hurts and what little energy he had he used to put pants on. That seems pathetic.

Brian reaches behind him and grabs the ruined duvet and pulls it over his head, desperate for restful sleep. He stirs when someone stumbles through the door. Old blood mingles with fresh; the smell stings his nose. Magic?

Roger smacks the wall and curses about his foot. He smells like Fae. That means Roger is drunk before 5 p.m. There’s only one reason.

The bed sinks behind him. Brian’s skin crawls at the feeling of being pinned down. Brian doesn’t have the energy to move away (or space unless he wants to sleep on the floor).

“Bri,” Roger attempts to whisper, “Briiiiii.”

He doesn’t react.

Roger forges on, “why don’t you trust me Bri?”

_What?_

“Why would you think I would hurt you? Jus’ wanna keep you safe.”  
Brian’s eyes fly open and stare at the dark wall of the blanket. Shit. He made Roger think-? Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Oh.

He’s hyperventilating.

His chest heaves with the effort to breathe. His fingers scratch for purchase. It feels like he’s flying apart. The sheet rips.

There’s yelling. Hands on him. Loud banging. Still can’t breathe. Why? He can’t fight the hands. Too dizzy. More yelling. He’s tired. He can’t breathe.

Light?  
Sheets are off his head. Cool air. Hands on his face. Get them off. He struggles. His chest burns.

Eyes? Green. John’s eyes.

More yelling. The ringing in his ears dies down.

“You should’ve waited! You’re drunk!”

Freddie.

“He should trust us!”

“We can’t make that choice for him.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“What do you mean Roger?”

“I don’t – I’m going – shit. I’m going to leave.”

“Roger wait!”

Brian doubles over at the retreating footsteps. Hands go onto his back. He jumps, a sharp growl tearing his throat. John steps away and raises his hands.

“Sorry.”

He feels his brain jump and his heart slams against his ribs. Brian can’t move, the will to leave the bed isn’t there. He needs to go. To be alone. John says something and steps out of the room.

Several minutes (Hours? Seconds? Days?) later John returns with water and a peeled orange. He sets it down and retreats in silence. Brian ignores the offering and falls asleep.

When he wakes up, his first thought is that he wishes he hadn’t. His second is that the food is still there. The third is that Roger isn’t in the bed. Brian reaches out with a shaking hand and drains the glass. He picks up a piece of fruit and chews it slowly. His stomach rebels and he pushes the rest away and goes back to sleep.

> **+1**

Brian opens his eyes to a sun bright room. His nose is hit with the smell of bananas. There’s a cut up one in a bowl on the nightstand. He swallows the grimace but drinks the water.

It takes him a few minutes to work up the will to start picking at the bananas. He manages to eat half before he starts drowning in guilt at the sound of slamming doors.

Brian forces himself to put a shirt on. Progress.

> **+2**

This morning its apples, and dread at waking up again. Is it morning even? He eats half again.

It’s John because he can make out Roger and Freddie’s sleep-strong scent come from the room across the hall.

He rolls onto his feet. There’s a weight in his chest. Brian shuffles shakily into the bathroom. Mouthwash and a shower. He can do that.

He doesn’t want to do that.

Brian ends up using all the hot water (scalding himself in the process, the skin heals minutes after he steps out) by staring at nothing. At least his doggy scent isn’t as strong.

> **+3**

“He hasn’t done anything, I’m worried.”

“You didn’t exactly help last time.”

Falling back asleep seems to be the easiest option.

> **+4**

He makes eye contact with Roger when he brings down the empty bowl and glass. Roger moves towards him, shoulders set forward.

Brian drops both on the floor (now someone has to clean up another mess for him a good job) and retreats to the bathroom. This time he runs the water cold.

He’s shivering when he finally steps out. Apparently, an hour an half later because John is making dinner.

His bed calls him.

> **+5**

“Something is wrong. He won’t speak, he sleeps too much, and he has to go back to class in two days.”

“He’s eating and he’s gotten out of bed.”

Brain pulls the pillow over his head and tries to block out the ever-raging argument. Eventually, Roger and Freddie leave the flat. John comes in and Brian gets a whiff of apples and rain. He pulls the pillow from his head, and cracks open an eye.

John skin looks paler than normal, and he can see the bitten skin around his fingers. The guilt drops in his stomach. It fills him and he can barely joke down the water.

> **+6**

Brian is determined to stay out of bed for a couple of hours. Roger got run out by Freddie who in turn went to his Sunday shift at the stall. John is the only one in the flat.

The telly is on. He sneaks to the shower and runs it cold, forgetting to lather soap on him. Their water bill is already going to be terrible this month. He’ll just have to pick up another shift at the library to pay for it. When he steps out and pulls on clean clothes, which he forgot which means John is looking out for him again.

He finally breaks down. His legs give out, hunger and guilt and anxiety swirl around his chest. The door flies open and John’s watching him wide-eyed. Brian doesn’t fight against the hug he’s pulled into even though it feels like he’s being trapped.

John angles his body so that he has a clear shot out of the bathroom if he needs one.

“Shh, you’re okay. We got you. I have you.”

Brian shakes his head and tries to remember how to form words, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Freddie and Roger are fighting because of me?”

“Is that why?”  
Brian shrugs.

“It’s not _because_ of you. Roger was a drunk ass.”

“Roger didn’t… he made it harder…but didn’t. Cause this.”

John rubs his back, “what do you mean?”

“Happens.” He whines when he doesn’t know how to get the words out of his head, “happens after I shift. Get unmotivated. Feel bad.”

“Okay.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Wish we would’ve known,” John mumbles, “would’ve had an idea.”

“Sorry.”

“Brian.”

He opens his mouth but at John’s look, he closes it.

“I’ll be functional in a few days,” Brian whispers, “we can talk more then.”

“Take your time. We can wait.”

Brian tenses at the idea of telling all of them. He’s sure it’s because whenever Freddie peaks into his room he still has high shoulders and Roger seems to tighten his shoulders every time he looks. John has been the most normal about the entire thing. Probably because he doesn’t know how dangerous an unpredictable lykan could be.

“I growled at you,” Brian closes his eyes tightly against the new rush of salt.

“I crossed your boundaries. It was my fault.”  
“Shouldn’t have.”

“No,” John agrees, and it makes him feel a little better, “but you had a reason to.”

They fall silent.

“Let’s go to the living room. I’ve been watching bad sitcoms all day.”

Brian lets himself be dragged along and he feels a little closer to human.

**Author's Note:**

> Shifting is a serotonin dump. As always leave your thoughts and comments below or come talk to me on tumblr!


End file.
